


Right There

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied Torture, M/M, Post-Hell, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have sex for the first time since Sam's got his soul back, but Lucifer's not ready to give him up just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right There

It was one of those kisses that turned into hours.

Slow and steady over scotch, the two of them balanced precarious on an old, demanding couch.

It was safer than the bed somehow, for Sam. Some place he felt less likely to get lost.

At first, Dean held him like this rare, precious thing. A straw man made of shutter glass about to blow away.

And that was ok, with Sam. His soul was still finding its way back through his own body. He wasn’t sure if it was ready for that kind of freedom. To be set loose inside Dean’s heart again.

So he let Dean lead. Laid back in the cushions and let himself be led.

Dean slid over him, his knees turning, his head shifting, until it was just right, again. Like it had been, once. His hands on Sam’s neck, gentle, in that way that let Sam feel how he was shaking. Told Sam he wasn’t alone, that Dean was freaked, too, that he was terrified of messing it up.

It was a delicate balance. Always had been, between them. And now, it’d been so long that it felt precarious, even more so than before, Dean’s hips in his hands and his tongue tucked up in Dean’s mouth. Fragile. Like they were teetering on the edge of something wonderful. Or in the jaws of something hungry. Something looking for a chance to bite.

But Sam batted that shit away, away away from he and Dean and the breath quick moans Dean was feeding him hot and greedy. Away from the soft rock of his thighs up and into Dean’s. From the needy roll of his cock between denim and cotton and Dean. Between cotton and denim and Dean’s cock, there. Right there. And Dean was right there, too, kissing Sam back and putting nails in his jaw, turning his head where Dean wanted it so he could give Sam the sloppy smooch behind his ear that always made Sam laugh, made him shiver. Dean chuckled against his throat and grabbed onto Sam a little tighter. No different this time. Wasn’t. Even if Sam had to bite his lip as Dean dipped his head. Kissed the hollow of Sam’s throat and moved lower, his fingers sneaking down to join his mouth. Buttons giving way, falling back like men behind the line.

Like the souls he’d seen fleeing from him in Hell. Tripping over each other to get away from the Cage, from the bars that Sam couldn’t see but that clamped around his gut. He knew they were there, the bars, the boundaries that kept he and Lucifer in and all the everyday demons and angels and hunters and brothers out. They all fell back. Left him alone with one of the sons of God and never, ever looked back.

Dean’s tongue flipped lazy over his navel and he startled, Sam. Got soft green eyes in his, got:

“Sammy. You ok?”

Whispered over his chest and yeah, he was fine. Just fine. Got one fat palm on Dean’s head and pushed. Got a big smile in return, wicked.

“That’s how it is, huh? You gotta have it now, baby, is that it?”

Sam’s hips twitched because oh, they remember that sound. That self-satisfied purr, the stupid smug bastard who smirked down Sam’s zipper, gave a long lazy lick up his cock and made Sam arch and groan his name in a way that only made Dean preen, made him peacock his fist around the shaft and jack Sam slow. Way too fucking slow and the more Sam fucked up, the more Dean slowed down, cooing like a car salesman the whole goddamn time.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, Sammy, hmm? I know. I know what you want, baby. Just like that, huh? Right there. That ‘s where you like it, sweetheart. Yeah.”

And he did all the shit that’d always made Sam see red. Made his mouth dry and his fists growl and his stomach shake like crazy. Dean stared up into his eyes, green razor of pleasure in his face, a razor that smiled and worked pink tongue out of red lips and made Sam want to beg, fuck, to fucking scream if it meant Dean would lean down, open that hot white flame and suck Sam to ashes and dust.

But he bit his lip, again, because he’d left his pleas in the Pit. All of them. And even Dean couldn’t have them now.

“So pretty,” Dean moaned. “Such a fucking pretty cock, Sam.” He turned his tongue around the head, a poison arrow to the heart. Teased Sam with his lips but didn’t suck. Not yet.

Little choked sounds behind Sam’s teeth fell. Little sounds like please and please and Dean. Decades of litany in those two words: please and please and Dean.

“No, Sammy,” Lucifer had said once. Every day. Every hour. Every year. “No, you may not have your skull back. I’m not done playing. And no, you may not have Dean.” He’d lean in or up or down, his face his grace dark and covered in smoke. “He’s not yours anymore. And you’re mine now, Sammy. So relax. Lie back and let me take care of you, sweetheart. Let me make it good for you, Sam. You’re sweet, so fucking sweet for me, baby–”

Dean’s mouth on his cock and Satan’s voice in his ear. The two of them tangled in his head, on his dick, on his face.

He opened his eyes, Sam, and stared. Gorged himself on the sight of Dean, Dean who did love him, Dean who did want him, Dean who’d let him go because it was the right thing to do and it was what Sam had wanted, but why had Dean never come? How could he not have heard Sam pleading for him, screaming for him even after his body had gone, when he had no mouth left to cry. Only his soul.

Like a thunderclap, that sound. The one his soul could make, once.

And then his body and his brain, the connection snapped.

His body was fucking Dean’s mouth, one hand in Dean’s hair and the other digging sting into his shoulder. His mouth was groaning, deep and sloppy and sound, all need and sex and now, and Dean was heating up, his fist his lips working in time: his face was pretty flush pink and he was giving the couch a hell of a ride.

They were close, Sam knew. So fucking close.

And he wanted to come. Jesus, did he want to. Flood Dean’s mouth and watch him swallow. Drag him up and kiss him senseless, yank his own taste off Dean’s tongue and make his brother come right there, like that, with whispers and two hands on his ass and dirty licks into his mouth. Make him come in his jeans, just like that.

But his head broke away, threw itself at Lucifer’s back, pleading: “Dean. Please. Dean.”

And Lucifer was in his face, then. Pushed Dean away and made Sam shriek.

“No,” Satan said again. Every day. Every hour. Every year. “No, you may not have your heart back. I’m not done playing. And no, you may not have Dean.”

“Dean!” Sam screamed. The boy of a thousand pieces.

Lucifer sighed. Let the hammer hang from his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Dean breathed, his hands on Sam’s face, sudden. “Sammy. Baby. What is it? Did I hurt you? I was trying to go slow, Sam. I was. Damn it, I’m sorry! I–”

Sam closed his eyes. Pushed his mouth into his brother’s cheek. “Dean,” he sobbed. “Dean.”

“Shhh,” Dean whispered. “Sam. ‘S ok. ‘S ok. I’m here. I’m here, baby.”

“And so am I!” Lucifer trilled. “Sam. Don’t forget that. No matter what happens: you’re never alone.”

Dean curled into Sam’s chest. Dropped his head onto Sam’s shoulder and held on tight. “You’re never alone,” he murmured. “Sammy. I’m here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

“Bullshit,” Satan snorted. He lounged in the love seat behind Sam’s eyes. “You know that’s not true. I’m the one who’s got you, sweetheart.”

Sam bit his lip. Gagged on his pleas and let himself be lulled. By two voices. Two.

Dean’s fingers, steady heartbeat on his chest.

Lucifer’s eyes, a strobe between his teeth.

“I’m afraid,” Sam had said, once. Every day. Every hour. Every year.

“I know,” Lucifer’d said with a smile. One born of disappointment and shame. One that always reminded him of Dean. “I know you are, peach. You always were the smart one. Now. Have your head back. And your heart. There you go, sweetheart. All ready for bed. Close your eyes, ok? And before you know it, it’ll be a brand new day.”

“Now,” Dean said, tugging. Taking. “There’s your jeans off. And your shirt. There you go, sweetheart. All ready for bed.” Two bodies in the sheets, twisted together and worn. “Close your eyes, ok? And before you know it–”

Sam let himself be lulled. By two voices. One.

_It’ll be a brand new day._

And all too often, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> For DarkCaustic, who prompted: "Sam and Dean are fooling around but Sam’s still seeing/hearing the devil and he keeps ruining their fun and it goes from hot and steamy to a cuddle session.”


End file.
